


Pinpoint

by magicasen



Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13298436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicasen/pseuds/magicasen
Summary: Holland can't want to be "not broken". But when, and where, to be broken: that, he can wish for.





	Pinpoint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laireshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/gifts).



> So, I'm only a chapter or so into the third book. Please forgive me for any canon inaccuracies, and I hope you can look past all the handwaving and lack of sexyness for all that Holland pain you wanted.
> 
> I really hope you like it!

The flat of the blade drags across Holland's cheek. It's been against his skin for so long that the metal has turned warm. His knees are numb where they kneel on the cold floor, and his cock is hardening from the anticipation, but he pays no mind to them.

Finally, the pressure deepens, gathers to a point as the knife presses hard enough that his jaw aches. He feels blood rushing to the surface, an inch from being drawn.

And Kell hesitates.

The knife pricks Holland's skin and the blood falls, wasted. Holland hisses, and Kell jerks back like a frightened animal.

“I—” Kell's eyes dart between Holland and the knife's stained edge. “It hurts.”

In a flash of anger, Holland wants to hurt him, instead.

But the other Antari doesn't know _hurt,_ doesn't know what it means to be so broken the shattered edges no longer fit together, doesn't know what it means to be stolen from, life and magic and blood, until only a husk remains. Something without thought, or personhood, or want.

Kell's hurt is so shallow.

Holland spits on the floor. There's no blood in it.

“The prince doesn't mind when it hurts,” he sneers.

Kell's grip on the knife tightens, but even his anger is childish. So easily controlled, like he doesn't understand that emotions, like magic, are made to be manipulated.

Holland can't understand it, placing all your loyalty to another person. To be gifted like they are, and then chained by sentiment to men less powerful than they are.

The cut on Holland's cheek widens, and droplets of blood fall from it. Holland's legs tremble, and his fingers dig into the cloth of his coat as Kell's fingers pass over the dripping blood and come away wet.

Kell doesn't know anything real, in his spoiled, sheltered, blessed life. But, and they both watch as the blood on his hand disappears into steam, he knows blood, because the magic is as much a part of him as it is of Holland.

Holland's breath shutters, and the cut on his face burns.

“This is what you want, right?” Kell's eyes are wide, and his fingers grip and re-grip the hilt of the blade, like he's hypnotized.

Holland bows his head, like he's become used to, but there's a rush there, that it's not the rune that compels him, but his own lust.

Kell knows better than to ask twice. He raises the knife, but this time, he turns it on himself. A cut appears on his palm, red dotting the longest line. Before the blood can leak out, he presses it against the cut on Holland's face.

Their blood intermingles, and Holland can't tell whose blood it is that falls and stains his lips.

Blood is a force that even those without magic can feel, and it scares the ignorant, being so close to the root of life.

For the two of them, the only blood mages, their existence itself skirts the edges of the most forbidden, purest magic. Submission of the human soul to magic.

From the point their blood meets, Holland can control Kell. Kell can control him. It's instinct, and only Kell, in all the worlds, understands this. Beyond Kell's love for his prince, and beyond Holland's once love for his dying world, this is what they share.

Another shallow cut, up alongside Holland's neck, and one carved behind his ear, it's finally here that Kell loses his nerve. The knife clatters to the floor, but Holland doesn't care. His body beats in time with his heart, and his cock throbs between his legs, each breath pushing out more blood.

And usually, this was his cue to shut down further, retreat back into nothingness as Athos and Astrid's laughs echo throughout the chamber.

But here, where all that exists is Kell's harsh panting, Holland falls. All the pain, the anger and frustration pushed back into the recesses of his barren mind; he allows himself to feel it, just once, alongside the pain. It explodes and renders his nerves in agony. Rather than tears from his eyes, thick blood flows freely from his cuts.

The orgasm is another, almost minuscule release compared to the pain. But primal instinct makes him shove his hand into his pants and wrap around his cock, forces his eyes to shut and his mouth to open as he comes.

His body unwinds from the climax slowly. Every drop of blood still bleeding is Kell's to take, but the other Antari lets them all fall.

Kell's fingers touch against his skin, around his cuts gingerly, and they close up under the spellwork. There's a visible tent in his pants, but he's too proud to do anything about it. Not that Holland has to concern himself with it.

“Holland?” Kell's voice is hoarse. Holland searches and finds the knife, fallen on the ground.

“...Hey. Say something.”

It's a command. But Holland doesn't listen, and revels in the fact that he won't.


End file.
